


Macaroni and Everything Else

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fatherhood, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: For Nancy, a request for Barba to have a six-year-old daughter (he didn't know about) from a one-night stand :)
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107





	Macaroni and Everything Else

The knock on the door was quiet, so quiet that Barba looked at Carisi with a small frown to silently ask if he’d heard it, too. Carisi shrugged a shoulder, but he’d paused on his way to the kitchen and watched as Barba walked over to the door.

Barba looked through the peephole, and his frown deepened; he couldn’t see anyone in the hallway. He debated for a few seconds before cautiously cracking the door open.

There was a young girl standing there, alone, staring up at him with big green eyes. Her dark hair was in loose, crooked, curly pigtails at either side of her head. She had a pack on her back and an envelope safety-pinned to the front of her pink jacket. _Rafael Barba_ was written on the envelope in neat cursive.

Barba pushed the door all the way open and looked both ways along the hallway with his stomach squirming uneasily. “Where did you come from?” he asked. He knew it probably wasn’t the right question, at least not to start.

“Mrs. Marcus,” the little girl said quietly. “She said wait until she was in the elevator to knock.”

“What…” Barba paused and licked his lip nervously. He felt Carisi’s hand at the small of his back for a moment, and then Carisi was slipping past him through the doorway. He flashed the girl a friendly smile but didn’t pause as he hurried toward the stairs. Barba wanted to call after him, tell him not to leave him alone with the child, but he bit the words back.

He and the little girl stared at each other for a few moments. She had dark smudges under her eyes, either from lack of sleep or from crying—or both—but her eyes were dry and watchful. He’d put her age somewhere between five and eight; she was small, maybe a little underweight, but her hair and clothes were clean and there were no visible signs of abuse.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Abigail,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Rafael.” His eyes slipped toward the envelope.

“Oh. Mrs. Marcus says you’re my father, then.”

She was very well-spoken for someone so small. Barba tried to distract himself with the thought, but it didn’t work. Her words were ricocheting around inside his skull.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked before his brain could catch up to his tongue and remind him why that was a terrible question to ask.

Her answer didn’t surprise him, but he still felt a stab of guilt at the slight tremor in her voice: “She’s in heaven.”

Barba drew a breath, trying to calm himself and remember how to think. “I’m sorry. Do you…want to come inside so we can…figure out what’s going on?”

She shrugged and stepped past him into the apartment, looking around with open curiosity. “Who’s that other guy?” she asked.

“That’s Sonny. He’s…We live together.”

“Like a roommate?” She hiked her backpack a little higher. It seemed heavy for her small frame. “Mrs. Marcus says that’s what Bert and Ernie are.”

“No, like a boyfriend,” he said.

“Oh,” she answered. “You don’t have any toys.”

“Toys?”

“Do you have other kids?”

His brain tried to stick on that fourth word, but he shook his head to dislodge it. “Can I…Do you mind if I take this note off your jacket?”

“Okay.” She watched him carefully unpin the envelope. “Do you like kids?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered. He looked at the flap, bucking up his courage. “You can set your backpack down, if you want.”

“I better keep it on in case you make me leave.”

He looked up at her. “No one’s going anywhere until we figure this out. It’s okay, you can take it off. You’re safe here.”

She regarded him for several seconds, and he tried not to think about how familiar her green eyes were. She slipped out of her pack and let it slide to the floor by her feet.

“Who’s Mrs. Marcus to you?” he asked.

“She babysits me when Momma works,” she said.

Barba nodded and looked toward the doorway when Carisi appeared in the opening. Carisi gave his head a little shake, and Barba nodded in acknowledgement. Then Carisi was closing the door and smiling at Abigail, his expression full of friendliness in spite of the sweat beaded on his brow and the flush in his cheeks.

“Hello, there,” he said. “I’m Sonny.”

“I know,” she answered. “You’re his boyfriend.”

“This is Abigail,” Barba said. Carisi met his gaze and crossed over to his side. Barba held up the envelope and looked at him, helpless to keep the fear from his expression.

Carisi took the envelope and then raised his eyebrows, silently asking for permission, and Barba nodded numbly. Carisi tore it open and pulled out a sheet of paper. His blue gaze scanned the words quickly from beneath knitted brows. “Jenny Quinn,” he said quietly, glancing at Barba.

Barba considered the name and gave his head a small, doubtful shake.

Carisi pulled a photograph from the envelope and held it toward Barba. It showed Abigail, a little younger than she was currently but still recognizable, with a woman. Barba let out a slow breath, which was enough of an answer for Carisi.

“Abigail,” he said. “Why don’t you take a seat, honey? We’re gonna go in the other room for a minute, okay? You can watch TV if you want, you want me to find some cartoons?”

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“Okay. Tell you what, you want a granola bar while we go talk and then I can fix some lunch?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Wait, what about allergies?” Barba asked. “My mother’s allergic to walnuts,” he reminded Carisi. He looked at Abigail. “Do you have any allergies?”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“What if—”

“Calm down, Raf,” Carisi murmured, but Barba wasn’t sure that was possible. He felt antsy, anxious, full of churning acid and nervous energy. Carisi handed him the note and envelope—he’d slipped the photograph back inside—and headed toward the kitchen. He returned in a few moments with a chocolate chip granola bar and ripped the top partway open before handing it to the little girl. “We’ll be in the other room, okay? You just call out if you need anything and we’ll be right back.” He walked over and turned on the television, quickly finding Jesse’s favorite station, and Abigail perched herself on the edge of the sofa to watch.

“Can we leave her alone?” Barba whispered.

“The bathroom is right there if you need, but don’t go outside the apartment, okay?” Carisi said, and she nodded as she nibbled at the granola. Carisi motioned with his head for Barba, and Barba followed him toward their bedroom with a last nervous glance toward Abigail. She was watching him, and Barba felt a bit of relief when Carisi pushed the bedroom door closed and she vanished from sight.

“This has to be a scam,” Barba said, running a hand over his face as he began to pace. “I need to call Liv, have someone track down Mrs. Marcus, find out where this kid belongs.”

“You know the woman in the picture?” Carisi asked quietly. “Jenny Quinn?”

Barba glanced sideways at him. “I met her. Once.”

“Met her.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Did you use protection?”

Barba turned to face him. “Of _course I used protection_ ,” he hissed.

“So, are you saying there’s no way this could be your daughter?” Carisi asked. His calmness was galling, and Barba resume pacing, unable to keep still.

“It broke,” Barba said. The words were little more than a mumble.

“Excuse me?”

“It broke. The condom broke. Jesus Christ, Sonny,” he said. “What do I—”

“Okay, Raf, okay, calm down.”

“Quit telling me to calm down!”

Carisi held up his hands and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t have a kid. First of all, why the hell wouldn’t she have said anything? You think I wouldn’t have done the right thing?” He looked at Carisi. “You think I’d turn my back—”

“Of course not.”

“Right, so. And what do I know about kids? I don’t know what she eats, when she sleeps, what school she goes to—Is she old enough for school?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know how she takes a bath, or brushes her hair. This is ridiculous. She can’t stay here.”

“No?”

“She can’t be mine.”

“Well, like you said. We’ll investigate, get the answers. You want I should call Liv?”

“But she said her mother’s dead. And I don’t think she was lying about that. If someone’s using her, her grief, to try to get to me—”

“Rafael.”

“ _What_?”

“We’ll figure it out. Right now she’s sitting out there, probably scared, we need to be calm when we walk out of here.”

“Well obviously I’m not going to freak out in front of her,” Barba said, glaring at Carisi. “I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to _do_ with her.”

“Know what I’m trying to figure out?” Carisi asked, his voice mild. When Barba continued to glare at him, Carisi continued: “Why it is I keep saying _we_ but you keep saying _I_.”

Barba let out an exasperated sigh. “Would you like to diagram that sentence for me?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Last I checked, your name wasn’t on the letter.”

“Last I checked, we were living together and, I _thought_ , planning on getting married in the not-all-that-distant future even if you hadn’t gotten around to asking me yet.”

Barba stared at him. “You…want me to propose to you?” he asked. “ _Now_?”

Carisi sighed. “No. But what if my name _was_ on the letter.”

“Were.”

“What?”

“What if it _were_ on the letter, ‘was’ is past but ‘ _were’_ is hypothetical—”

“Fine, hypothetically if she were my daughter instead of yours, what would you do?”

“Instead of mine?” Barba asked, his lips barely moving. He swallowed, hard. “I’d…say she was luckier, at least you’re good with kids.”

Carisi got to his feet. “Fine,” he repeated. “We don’t need to talk about this now, all that matters is the little girl out there. I’m gonna go fix her something to eat and call down to get the security footage from the elevator. I got your permission to send it to Liv for facial rec?” At Barba’s slow nod, Carisi said, “Good, it’s a place to start,” and walked over to the door. “Take as long as you need, I’ll look after her.”

Barba opened his mouth—he had no idea what he was going to say, but it didn’t matter because Carisi was already out of the room.

* * *

Abigail was sitting at the kitchen table, with a bowl of macaroni and cheese and a glass of juice in front of her. Carisi had stacked a couple of folded blankets on the chair in lieu of a booster seat. Barba supposed they would need to get one of those, and he made a mental note to ask Benson if she still had Noah’s. Noah was tall for his age, but Abigail was small and would probably need one for a while.

“Is he mad I’m here?” she asked.

Carisi was sitting beside her at the table. “Of course not. Nobody’s mad at you.”

“Is he gonna make me leave? Mrs. Marcus said no one else would take me. She said I didn’t have anywhere—”

“Hey,” Carisi said, dipping his head to make eye contact with her, “you listen to me, alright? No matter what, you’re gonna be safe, I promise. You don’t have to worry about any of that, that’s our job.” He caught sight of Barba in the bedroom doorway and offered a small smile.

Abigail turned and saw him, and she fidgeted with her spoon. “Momma said you were nice,” she said quietly. She hesitated, watching Barba cross toward the table. “Are you nice?”

Barba smiled. “I try my best,” he answered. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside her, across from Carisi. “Abigail, I’m sorry if I seemed upset. I was just surprised, is all, because I didn’t know…you were coming here. But none of that matters now. I asked a couple of friends of mine—of ours—to stop over here in a little while. One of them is a police captain named Olivia Benson.”

“Police?” Abigail asked, looking alarmed. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, no. She’s going to help us figure out what we need to do. We need to find Mrs. Marcus, just to ask her a few questions. And Liv—Olivia, she’ll need to ask you some questions, but I promise you’re not in trouble. You can trust her. Another friend is coming, his name is Trevor Langan. He’s a lawyer—like me, and like Sonny. Except, he deals with family stuff.”

“Are you really my father?”

Barba hesitated, glancing at Carisi. There was no way of knowing for certain, not without a paternity test, but Barba knew the answer anyway. “I think…that I am, yes,” he said.

“Am I gonna live here with you?”

“Is that what you want?”

She shrugged and frowned at her food for a few seconds before looking at Carisi. “Would I have two dads?”

“We can all figure out what we’re comfortable with,” Barba said before Carisi could answer. “You can call us whatever you want, to start out. But yes, Sonny will be your dad, too.” He reached across the table, and Carisi took his hand and laced their fingers together. “But like he said, it’s not your job to worry about anything. He and I will figure it all out, and no matter what, you’re going to be safe. Alright?”

“Okay,” she answered. “He makes good macaroni.”

“Yes, he does,” Barba agreed, flashing Carisi a smile that made the other man’s dimples deepen. “It’s why I fell in love with him,” Barba added with a wink, and Carisi laughed quietly. “That and everything else.”

Carisi squeezed his hand and then smiled at Abigail again. She smiled in response, and Barba felt a surge of love for Carisi. No matter what might happen, they would figure it out together.


End file.
